


Ghosts

by HiAjay



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiAjay/pseuds/HiAjay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles,”</p>
<p>“You’re not real. Please.” Stiles tries to keep a lump from gathering in his throat. He heads inside the home. Stiles stares at the staircase, the beautiful carved banister leading upstairs. It punches Stiles in the stomach. He feels sick; so incredibly sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> I was/am up. And I was listening to this amazingly beautiful song, and I got an idea. Mind it that they idea was supposed to go along with the song. But I kept writing until I ended up with a slightly different out come. But over all, I was okay with what I wrote. This was just a small feels. Because I had the feels. I linked the song, so I'm some what helpful.
> 
> So anyway, I hope you guys like it (:

[ _When you're awake and your own Shadows turn into Ghosts._ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82eXuSxCsSk)

 

Stiles was out on a walk, a quite walk through the woods. He knows better than to be here; he knows what it will do to him if he _accidently_ ran into it again. Stiles knows very well why he’s headed back there every time he feels like he can’t stand it anything that surrounds him. He heads there, there to the place where he first knew what he wanted to do. There to where his best friend created ties. There to where Stiles made friends.

 

Stiles heart is racing in an uncomfortable way. He knows he’s getting close. His body is shaking as he treads the damp forest floor. Every couple of times he’s here he is reminded a little more as to why he hates indifference. Stiles shouldn’t do this to himself, he really shouldn’t. But there isn’t anything that doesn’t feel remotely real anymore.

 

The sun is setting and Stiles is beginning to feel scared. He knows what night time brings. The nightmares of his past, he’s still away and the cast of the moon creates his shadow. What kind of person is terrified to look at their own Shadow? Stiles is terrified, and he’s on these walks to avoid staring at them on his bedroom wall.

 

His insomnia has gotten worse. His ability to stay rational and sane is slipping. He knows he isn’t crazy, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling it.

 

Stiles is here.

 

A beautiful recreation of burnt walls and ceilings; A house that was a home. That continues to be a home. Stiles has refused to inhabit this _home_. There are memories, memories Stiles wishes to forget. It’s all incredibly painful.

 

“ _Stiles,_ ”

 

Stiles whips around, watching the trees cast large shadows, he’s met with his growing fear. His constant enemy; the shadows seem to be walking along the lining of the trees. Never making a step forward; Stiles knows very well why. They are just shadows, nothing more.

 

“ _Stiles,_ ”

 

“You’re not real. _Please._ ” Stiles tries to keep a lump from gathering in his throat. He heads inside the _home._ Stiles stares at the staircase, the beautiful carved banister leading upstairs. It punches Stiles in the stomach. He feels sick; so incredibly sick.

 

“ _Stiles,_ ”

 

He can’t do this, he can’t keep doing this to himself. He knows none of this is real. He knows. So why is he so scared of the darkness that’s there. His shadow and the shadows of the objects in the _home_ create creatures of his past, his constant haunting memory. It isn’t even the bad ones that bother him.

 

“ _Stiles!_ ”

 

Stiles eyes shoot up to the top of the stair case, and there like the sun itself. “No, I- No, you’re not real,” Stiles’ eyes are glossing over with tears. “You- You aren’t real. _Please stop,_ ”

 

Stiles falls to his knees. Hiccupping and sobbing into his hands as he hears his name over and over again. It’s like an annoying ringing. He can’t take it anymore, this constant pain, this constant reminder.

 

\--- 

“Stiles Wake up,” Derek’s voice is like glass shattering in his ears. Stiles eyes open, the sting is strong and he tries to say something but his throat hurts and his lips chapped and dry, along with the rest of his mouth.

 

“That dream again?” Derek asks. Stiles looks around the dusk lit room, no darkness and no shadows to haunt him.

 

“Ye-Yeah,” Stiles licks his lips. He shifts himself closer to Derek and rests within his arms. That nightmare will mean something to him someday. But as of right _now,_ it’s a horrible remind of how close he got to losing what he loved.

 

“You’re safe,” Derek whispered onto his forehead, “You’re safe.”


End file.
